


The Spook Who Climbed The Stairs

by Skywalkerspock



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Inception Reverse Big Bang Challenge, M/M, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skywalkerspock/pseuds/Skywalkerspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mundane errand leads Arthur Jones - single, socialite and secret spy, to a chance encounter with Eames - no other name given.  Just Eames, like Cher or Charo.  Arthur's meddling friend Mal Cobb couldn't be more thrilled. She believes it's kismet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spook Who Climbed The Stairs

**Author's Note:**

> Inception Reverse Big Bang 2014 fic inspired by ko_no_yo's lovely art which is linked in the end notes. This is really more of a PG-13/soft R story but I errored on the side of caution with the M rating.

The weather in New York City had finally turned cool. Arthur Jones, heir to the one of the largest fortunes in the country, was grateful. At present he was nestled in bed at his West Village brownstone enjoying the light warmth of a king sized coverlet thinking about what he would have for breakfast. He decided on pumpkin waffles. 

The brownstone wasn’t his only residence. Arthur kept a penthouse apartment at the Waldorf Astoria as his public home. It’s where he brought dates as it was the Park Avenue address with a view of Central Park that was expected from Arthur Jones. Decorated with antique furniture and paintings by Old Masters, it was a reminder to all who entered that his family was american royalty. They were the Jones, one of society’s oldest and wealthiest families. 

Arthur never brought strangers to the brownstone. Arthur liked to think of the building as his fortress of solitude. Four floors of living space all to himself, furnished with the sleek minimalism of mid century modern furniture. 

Strangers were a safety risk. Arthur led a dangerous life as a covert operative for the CIA. Most people would find the life of a spy lonely but Arthur was happy with his life. He had never been normal anyway. That was impossible with his last name. But his upbringing was excellent preparation for being a spy. He didn’t trust people. He was never sure if a person liked him or his money so he kept relationships casual. Now there was the added burden that a relationship could comprise him. A significant other would be easy target for those unfriendly to the US. The end result was Arthur spent a large portion of his free time alone at the brownstone. 

The brownstone was lacking for nothing. A kitchen occupied a large portion of the second floor. It was outfitted with restaurant quality equipment. Two dishwashers, double ovens, jumbo refrigerator and a six burner stove that didn’t see much action. If outsiders were allowed inside they would assume the kitchen was just for show or created for the private chef Arthur hired to prepare all his meals. They would have been partially correct. Arthur did eat out most nights so the kitchen was a bit of a showcase but he did spend a lot of time in it. Just not cooking. 

Arthur loved to bake. He found it relaxing. Baking required precision, patience and discipline, traits Arthur had honed over the years as a spy. It had been his friend Mal’s idea for him to start baking. She herself was a terrible baker. No patience to take accurate measurements or resist opening the oven for quick peaks. She once told him if a cake recipe called for one pound of butter then surely an extra stick or two would make it better. 

Mal loved extravagance. She often told Arthur she was honor bound as a French woman to bring joie de vivre to his life. She was the personification of joy for him so he didn’t mind her meddling into every aspect of his life. Or spending his money. Letting her decorate his penthouse has been a costly endeavor even for someone as rich as Arthur, but she loved doing it so he let her. She had run out of space in her apartment long ago and took to filling up Arthur’s “faux home” as a substitute. 

Arthur allowing Mal to cram the penthouse with the ornate French furniture she loved endeared him with Dom, Mal’s husband and Arthur’s handler. Dom, like Arthur, preferred a clean modern living space. The shared preference helped the two men became close friends in addition to work colleagues. The trio spent a lot of time together as they were Arthur’s closest friends in the city. He was a frequent guest for dinner. In fact, the Cobb’s were having a dinner party in a few days and Arthur hadn't decided what he was going to bring over for dessert. 

Thinking of the dessert triggered Arthur back to the more pressing culinary need: waffles for breakfast. He kept a well stocked pantry so he was confident all the ingredients would be downstairs. He swept aside the coverlet and planted his feet on the cold wood floor. Mal thought he should have area rugs but he didn’t like the clutter. The cold always provided an extra incentive to get him out the bed and into the warmth of his steam shower. It was also too easy to slip on a rug when it was necessary to make a hasty exit. Trade craft 101. 

Showered and clothed in his usual weekend attire of jeans and a button down, Arthur looked for his copper bowls. He decided in the shower to have whipped cream with his pumpkin waffles and the key to the best whipped cream was a copper mixing bowl. As Arthur didn’t often add fanciful flourishes like whipped cream to his meals (too many empty calories), it took him a moment to recall his copper bowls had been ruined when he had to use them in a pinch for a batch of homemade C4. He had blocked that horrible week out of his mind. Colombian death squads can be very persistent. 

Shaking off bad memories, Arthur called an audible and decided it would be a good time to pick up a new set of bowls. The crisp fall weather was perfect for a walk.

~

There were several chic shops south of his brownstone that carried copper cookware but Arthur preferred to frequent a lower profile restaurant supply store. It was for commercial businesses only but that wasn’t an hindrance for Arthur. He was the executive director of a party planning business the CIA set up as a front company. It has seen a 60% increase in profitability since Arthur took over oversight of operations. 

The company’s increased profitability was due to Arthur’s aptitude for planning. He was able to quickly ascertain strategic targets and key assets for social functions. He applied the same principles to party planning as he did to spying. It didn’t matter if he was tasked with toppling a foreign regime, having a wedding reception in Yankee stadium or making a chocolate soufflé for dessert.

Arthur got jazzed by the satisfaction of a tangible outcome. The thrill of making the improbable happen regardless of the magnitude of the assignment. Party planning was sometimes harder to pull off than spying but obviously less dangerous. Arthur spent many nights sneaking into heavily guarded facilities to steal intel or carrying out assignation orders. The lies and killing didn’t bother him on a moral level but it was mentally taxing. It was why he relished days when he could focus on mundane tasks like buying a copper bowl so he could have whipped cream on pumpkin waffles. 

~

The bell on the door announced Arthur’s entrance into the supply store. He immediately went to the aisle with the copper cookware and was happy to find several bowls on the lowest shelf that would suit his requirements. He had to bend and stretch quite a bit to reach one particular bowl towards the back of the shelf, making him grateful he kept up with his yoga exercises. 

Preoccupied with grabbing the bowl, he didn’t hear the person walking up behind him. He was startled when an english accent asked, “Can I help you?” 

Arthur knew he was presenting his ass to the man like a baboon but there was nothing to do about it at this point. He would get past the embarrassment. What truly bothered him was that someone had walked up behind him undetected. It was the type of mistake that could get a person killed on a mission. 

Finished mentally berating himself, Arthur straighten and turned to greet the voice. He was shocked at the sight before him. The store was normally staffed by retirees and widows. Senior citizens who didn’t pose any threat to Arthur and left him to browse at his leisure. Instead of a fragile and hunched figure, Arthur was presented with the living embodiment of a wet dream from his youth.

A young,muscular Paul Newman look-alike circa Cool Hand Luke stood in front of Arthur. The smirk on his ridiculously plush lips, the tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of a plain white t-shirt, his impossibly broad chest all made Arthur’s pulse race. He was Arthur’s exact type, the kind he would bring back to the penthouse for a one night stand and the polar opposite of what he had expected when he’d turned about to greet the voice. Arthur had to bite his tongue to stop himself from asking the man if he could eat fifty eggs. 

“Those require a lot of maintenance,” the Paul Newman doppelganger said, “Why not go with a stainless steel set?”

Arthur snapped out of his daze and replied, “The easiest solution is not always the best.”

The inked specimen chuckled, “Not a proponent of Occam’s razor are we, mate. Well, you are right. There’s an innate appeal to copper that’s missing in stainless steel”. 

Lowering his voice and blatantly letting his gaze linger over Arthur in a slow perusal, he continued, “In its purest form, copper is soft and malleable, a precious metal. But couple it with zinc and you have the strength of bronze. Mix it with tin for the beauty of brass. And if you hydrate it you get a poison. Quite the versatile metal. Elegant and dangerous. An excellent conductor of heat - hot and cold. If you are willing to put in the time, it will give you the best results.” 

The man’s ode to copper left Arthur dumbstruck. It wasn’t often he was surprised by people and nu Paul had managed to do so twice in a very short span of time. Arthur had hastily assessed him as a mindless thug, likely out on parole for some petty crime and hired to stock the shelves. Someone to fuck and kick out at the first sign of daylight. There had to be more to nu Paul if he could make a chemistry lecture sound seductive. 

“Are you a chef?” nu Paul asked. “You’re dressed like a restaurant owner but they tend to stick with stainless steel and glass. It’s cheaper. So I’m guessing a chef de cuisine.” 

“No, I’m not a cook. I manage a party planning company. We need new bowls for an upcoming event,” Arthur lied smoothly as he came back to himself. 

Nu Paul’s face broke out into a huge smile revealing a mouth full of crooked teeth that Arthur found charming. He couldn’t recall the last time he met someone without thousands of dollars of dental work. It was oddly refreshing. 

The man extended his hand to introduce himself, “I’m Eames. Just Eames, if you will. Like Bono or Cher.” 

Arthur supposed he'd have to stop referring to Eames as Nu Paul in his head. It wasn’t a total lost. He liked the name Eames as it happened to be the surname of two of his favorite designers, Ray and Charles Eames. He had two of their original chairs in his brownstone. Mal had been trying to convince Arthur for years to let her have the pair as a gift for Dom. Arthur had offered to buy a set but she felt it wasn’t the same as him giving them to her. If Mal ever saw this Eames she’d probably try to trade him for the chairs. An Eames for a Eames. Mal logic. 

Arthur silently laughed at the ridiculous thought as he grasped the hand of the breathing Eames and replied with a firm shake, “I’m Arthur Jones.” 

Eames held Arthur’s hand for a beat longer than customary. He stared down at their intertwined fingers with a puzzled look.

“Well Arthur Jones, party planner,” he said looking back up at Arthur’s face,“it’s a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. You seem to be a man who has a good handle on what he wants. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance fulfilling your needs. Just give a whistle and I’ll come.”

Eames started walking away, back down the aisle from which he came. Before he made the turn that would take him out of Arthur’s sight, he stopped and turned back to Arthur. 

“You know how to whistle don’t you, Arthur?” Arthur thought it an odd question but it sounded familiar. Eames didn’t give him much time to ponder it as he followed up his question with the answer, “Just put your lips together and blow.” 

Then he winked. 

Arthur had to give Eames major points for originality. He was often on the receiving end of misquoted Shakespeare sonnets and tacky pick up lines but he had never gotten dialogue from a seventy year old movie. Arthur’s mother had made him sit through enough black and whites on American Movie Classics for Arthur to recognize Lauren Bacall’s most famous line from To Have and Have Not. He had to smile at the sheer audacity of it. 

Mal would be impressed. Eames had managed to put a genuine smile on Arthur’s face. Eames returned Arthur’s smile before turning back around and disappearing from view. Mal was always calling Arthur a Grinch for not smiling enough to show off his dimples. Maybe he should start referring to Eames as Cindy Lou Who. 

~

Not little Cindy Lou Who returned to stocking shelves. Eames was happy to have the menial task to clear his head and process what had just happened. He worked on weekends as a favor to Saito, the owner. The normal staff was too old to lift the heavy items. Eames didn't mind the work. It kept him in shape and it was simple work but it was quite a change from his previous job.

He had been a member of Her Majesty’s Naval Services. Eames had loved his time as a soldier even though it wasn’t something he had chosen for himself. As a second son, Eames was expected to keep up the tradition of military service for Queen and country. He enlisted despite his desire to pursue a career as a painter. He had tried out for Special Boat Service (SBS), the elite special forces unit of naval services, after 18 months of service. In training he broke the SBS record for freediving and that kickstarted his rapid rise through the ranks. 

By anyone’s standards Eames was a highly skilled military professional. He was fast and efficient. He applied the core tenets of special ops to every mission: get in and out with minimum effort and never leave a man behind. But he was a terrible soldier.

The Naval Service wasn’t able to train out of Eames his affinity for creativity which made him challenge standard operating procedures and the orders of his commanding officers. He eventually pissed off enough people that his exemplary record and family name couldn’t save him, and he was asked to resign his commission. 

His mates had predicted he would get thrown out because of his cock; Eames flirted with everyone and bedded whomever was willing. He took perverse satisfaction in proving them wrong and getting kicked out because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

Now he was under-employed and working weekends in Saito’s store. Eames had met Saito during one of his missions. He had saved Saito’s life and kept one of his proprietary computer decrypting drives from getting into the wrong hands. Eames had impressed Saito - a man not easily moved -with his military prowess, calm demeanor under pressure and ability to discuss the evolution of Picasso’s brush technique. They had kept in touch. 

When Eames needed to leave England and keep a low profile, Saito helped him out with a job in the States. He split his time stocking shelves at the store and working as a fishmonger at the Fulton Fish market. Fish mongering kept him near the water, where he always felt at peace. It also gave him a steady supply of free premium-grade sushi that kept his fish-loving roommate Sam happy. 

Working two jobs kept Eames busy working but he was bored. Arthur Jones was a lovely unexpected distraction. It wasn’t often that Eames ran into someone he couldn't figure out within moments of being introduced. 

He had a natural talent for reading people. It made him an excellent card player and a mischievous mate. He loved to push people’s buttons to get them to react. Saito had been one of the few people Eames didn’t get right away but that was a rare occurrence. Now it seemed after missions on five continents and hiding out in plain sight in the States, Eames had finally found a matching snowflake. Arthur Jones, possessor of dimples, an expensive Swiss watch and wearer of tight jeans was not what he seemed. 

Eames had purposefully snuck up on Arthur. He’d got in the habit of doing it to his squad members when they had down time. It reminded them that they should always be on guard and alert to possible threats. He continued to do it to civilians because their reactions always made him laugh. He had a dark sense of humor. Normal people jumped out of their skin when he suddenly spoke up. Arthur hadn’t flinched. 

Eames had put on his best lewd face and looked him over like he was a whore in Amsterdam’s red light district, trying to get a reaction. Arthur hadn’t flirted back, blushed or gotten insulted by Eames’ indecent attentions. He wore a blank, unreadable expression. 

It was only when Eames’ inner nerd had made an appearance and he’d rambled on about the properties of copper that he’d got any sign of life from Arthur. His eyes had crinkled ever so slightly.

Something didn’t add up with Arthur. Party planners who wore bespoke shirts, Hermes loafers, and Patek Philippe watches weren’t usually seen doing menial errands like buying bowls on a Sunday morning at a commercial supply house. 

Eames dressed like a longshoreman most of the time and hung out with working class folk from the docks, but he had spent enough time shagging NYC snobs to know the type. They would farm out every task to one of their assistants or go to one of the trendy boutiques in Soho.

When Eames shook Arthur’s hand the alarm bells went off in his head. Party planners didn’t have calluses on their index fingers and palms. Certainly not the kind of calluses you got from spending an extraordinary amount of time handling firearms. Arthur’s appearance screamed pompous old money but his hands, composure and self-reliance told a different story. 

Arthur Jones. A mystery wrapped up in an enigma. Eames loved puzzles. He look forward to solving the riddle of Arthur. It would take time but anyone with a killer ass and dimples was well worth the effort and any potential headache. 

The restocking completed, Eames walked over to the front desk to sit and relax. He let his mind wander back to its natural lascivious resting point, knowing that his intellectual curiosity wasn’t going to be immediately satisfied. Eames was a self-aware man. Naughty thoughts were his true north. 

He would wager Arthur had back dimples to match the ones on his face. When he was bent over in the aisle looking at the bowls, Eames imagined lifting the hand-tailored shirt and pressing his thumbs into Arthur’s dimples of Venus. 

Eames imagined rubbing himself against Arthur jeans, nearly coming from just the friction. Then he would unbuckle Arthur’s belt and push the denim down his legs as he knelt behind him so that he could caress the bare skin of Arthur’s perfect round ass. Slip his right thumb inside Arthur’s hole to press again the bundle of nerves that would make him cry out in want. He’d then spread Arthur’s with both hands so he could have better access to lick him open. 

Eames would take his time, savoring Arthur’s taste and smell. Then he’d rise from his knees so he could retrieve the packet of lube he always kept in his front pocket. Rip it open with his teeth and slick himself liberally with the contents. Eames would use his own shirt to wipe the excess from his hands before wrapping them back around Arthur’s petite waist, slowly sliding inside him, skin against skin, not stopping until he bottomed out. 

~

Arthur found Eames at the front counter lost in thought. He was absently rubbing his left arm, lifting up his t-shirt sleeve in the process. This allowed Arthur a clear view of the design he had only been able to glimpse earlier in the aisle. 

Eames had a tattoo of a giant octopus that extended from his shoulder nearly to his elbow. That now made it three times that Eames had surprised Arthur. A new record. Arthur would have bet considerable money that Eames had a koi fish or half naked lady on his arm. Nothing as elegant as an octopus. 

It was an exceptional design. The swirling tentacles emphasized the grace of the deep sea creature. It looked yet to be colored but what was outlined was stunning even in stark black ink. 

Eames caught Arthur starring at his arm and smiled. “Do you like my octopussy?” he teased, “My mates like to whine about how handsy I am with people.”

“Octopuses are extremely intelligent and loyal creatures,” Arthur shot back,“There are some that will stay with their eggs for over four years, refusing to leave them even to eat. The safety of their eggs the utmost of importance. They die protecting them.” 

“Spot on, Arthur Jones. Jacques Cousteau himself would be impressed with your knowledge of oceanography. I would not have pegged you as a sea lover.”

“I have many interests, Mr. Eames. Please don’t presume to know anything about me.”

“Darling, I’m beginning to realize that making assumptions about you could have deadly consequences for a simple man like myself,” Eames quipped back.

Arthur rolled his eyes at Eames’ declaration of being a simple man and his use of the endearment. “Take your time. Don't live too fast, troubles will come and they will pass.” 

Eames was stumped by the reference and raised an eyebrow in response. Arthur refused to appease his curiosity. He‘d finally found a benefit to being tortured by his freshman year roommate’s constant playing of Lynyrd Skynyrd. He was going to enjoy the moment. 

After a beat he said, “I’m going to take these three sets of bowls for now,” and laid the items on the counter. “If I need more, I’ll call in the order.” 

Arthur only needed one set but it would look suspicious to purchase a solo set. He would give one set of bowls to Mal and keep the other as a spare. He couldn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be another need for homemade C4 in the future so it was a good investment. 

“Well I’m only here on weekends so let me give you my mobile number, in case you need to put in that order for more. I handle all the inventory. Browning is the sales person during the week but he is getting a bit up in age. He won’t be able to give you proper assistance.” 

Eames was lying, Browning was as sharp as a tack. Saito wasn't sentimental enough to have anyone working for him who wasn’t up to the task. Of course, Arthur didn’t need to know the truth. Eames was happy to have a convenient excuse to hand Arthur his number. 

“Your dedication is admirable Mr. Eames. I will call if I need any additional supplies.”

“I look forward to your call, Arthur Jones. Party planner.” He put a weird emphasis on ‘party planner’ again. Arthur, eager to get back home to start on his breakfast, chalked it up to Eames being English. 

Arthur left the store in such a good mood he thought about ringing up Mal and Dom to share his Sunday Fun Day meal. An idea he quickly discarded when he played out all the questions he would be subjected to if he called them for an impromptu meal. Arthur was not spontaneous and acting out of character would arose their suspicious nature. Better to eat alone than swim with those two sharks. He would be seeing them in a few days anyway for their dinner party. 

~

When the day for the dinner party rolled around, Arthur showed up with the extra set of copper bowls. The largest bowl was filled with madeleines and the smaller bowls contained macaroons and mini chocolate croissants. He arrived early, as he always did, so he would have a chance to chat with Mal and Dom before any other guests arrived. 

“Mon cher, do I smell butter cakes? And spy macaroons and croissants! Viva La France,Arthur. You haven’t baked this much for me in a long time. What inspired this gift?” Mal asked as she opened the door. 

“Nothing in particular. I was just in the mood.”

“Arthur, you never do anything without a specific reason. This is far too whimsical for you.”

“And you claim that I have a suspicious nature. You put me to shame, Mal.”

“Never marry a French woman, Arthur. They will break your spirit.” Dom chimed in from the living room. 

Mal ignored both men and went to place the baked goods in the kitchen. Arthur continued on to the living room to join Dom. 

~

Dom was a professor at Columbia University. It was a cover for his real job as a recruiter and handler for the CIA. Mal worked at an auction house that was used by the CIA to launder money for Dom’s off the book missions. Mal had been Dom’s asset. They got married in secret even though it was against protocol for an asset and handler to be involved. The CIA subsequently allowed their marriage because of Dom’s stellar track record.

His specialty was recruiting assets. He was able to get them to do out-of-the ordinary, dangerous things for love of country. Things most people weren't comfortable doing. But they did as he asked because they trusted his end game. 

Dom was a man of great vision. He had his pick of some of the brightest minds in the country. He exploited the eagerness of youth. Any short term damage to a person’s psyche was acceptable collateral damage. This made him a great handler but a lousy friend. 

Arthur was Dom’s best agent. Arthur had worked with Dom longer than any other operative and had never failed in completing a tasked assignment. They were kindred spirits of moral flexibility. Arthur wasn’t bothered by Dom’s methods because he was able to see the practicality in what Dom asked him to do. The ends justified the means.

“Mal, who else is joining us for dinner tonight?” Arthur inquired as he seated himself across from Dom in one of the tufted leather club chairs. Dom was ensconced in its twin, two fingers of his favorite Scotch sloshing around in a cut crystal tumbler. 

“Saito and one of his friends,” she replied. “So we will be using the round table in the den rather than the formal dining room”.

“Good god, Saito has friends?” Dom yelled out in genuine surprise. 

“I was as shocked as you, love.” Mal answered, “But he asked if he could bring someone with him.” 

“Do you think it’s a date?” Arthur asked. 

“For my personal sanity, I hope not,” Dom said, “I prefer to think of you and Saito as asexual.” As he was speaking, Dom reached across the small table that separated the two men to hand Arthur a glass of Grey Goose and seltzer. Dom always had Arthur’s drink of choice prepared prior to his arrival. 

“I appreciate your lack of interest, Dom.”

“That’s why you’re my one true friend, Arthur. Practical in all matters,” Dom responded, holding up the tumbler in a silent salute.

The two men sat in a comfortable silence for several minutes until it was interrupted by the chime of the door bell. They both knew Mal would get the door so they made no attempt to get up.

“Saito. It has been too long.” Mal emphatically stated as she reach up to kiss him on both cheeks in greeting. 

“Thank you for once again inviting me to your home. May I introduce my friend, Eames.”

At that moment several things happened simultaneously. 

Arthur heard the name Eames and choked on the sip of vodka he had just taken. 

Dom, confident that Arthur wasn’t in any real danger of dying, laughed at his friend’s distress.

Mal clapped her hands in glee and bounced in the air. “Eames! You rapscallion. I’ve been trying to get you to one of my dinner parties for months. And just when I was going to abandon my efforts, you show up on my doorstep. It’s kismet!”

~

Saito was unfazed by the sounds of laughter, coughing and shrilling that surrounded him. He didn’t believe in coincidences, chance or fate. He believed that knowledge and decisive action created opportunities. Saito knew that the Cobbs and Arthur were spies and he helped them launder money through the auction house. He didn’t do it out of love for democracy and the American way. It was beneficial for Saito's to have indebted friends in the CIA.

He was now on a personal mission. Saito would never admit it to his Western friends, but he was matchmaking. The practice of miai had a long tradition in his country but it was a custom often misunderstood by outsiders, so he kept his own counsel. He wanted Arthur and Eames to become better acquainted, believing the soldier and the spy would make a formidable team.

Eames had talents that extended beyond soldiering. Things he had learned as a rebellious misspent youth. Saito knew Eames’ particular set of skills could be of great use to the Cobbs.

He also thought the young Englishman would enjoy Arthur’s companionship. Eames needed more than Sam to keep him company. He needed another friend in the city, someone capable like Arthur. 

And Eames could help remove the wistfulness Saito sometimes glimpsed in Arthur’s eyes. Arthur had a fortune close in size to his own. He was empathic to the burden and isolation of great wealth. It made it difficult to trust. Arthur should discover he could put his trust in Eames as he had learned years ago.

Saito interrupted his inner monologue with a pronouncement to Eames. “So you and Mal know each other. I am not surprised, Tako. Mal has a rogue’s gallery of friends and you are a worthy addition. ”

Mal was less matter of fact with the coincidence of their overlapping friendships. 

“Tako? You have a nickname for Eames? You and the serendipity that follows you never ceases to surprise me, Saito. Eames is my fishmonger. I see him every Monday. He always puts aside the best catch of the day for me.” 

“You scare me, Mal. I fear for my life if I give you anything but the best,” Eames teased after he received his kisses from her.

“Eames I don’t know you but I can already tell that you are a wise man,” Dom chimed in from the living room, rising to shake Eames’ hand as Mal escorted the two men into the room. Dom gave a quick bow to Saito which Saito returned. 

Arthur uncharacteristically remained in his seat. Mal and Dom gave him a strange look. Arthur was normally polite to a fault but at that moment he remained glued to the chair in disregard to social custom. A particular insult to Saito who outranked Arthur in social status but he didn’t take any offense at Arthur’s behavior. He was in fact relishing the moment. 

Saito noticed the look of joy that bloomed on Eames’ face as he saw Arthur in the chair. Eames’ glee coincided with Arthur’s befuddlement. A good indicator that miai, like all his business dealings, was going to be successful.

“Arthur Jones, party planner. What a glorious twisted of fate to see your lovely face so soon again. How are you darling? Did that copper work out for you?,” Eames asked. 

“Copper?” Dom asked his favorite new person. Anyone who was liked by Mal, friendly with Saito, and made Arthur squirm was a prince among men in Dom’s mind. And a high value target for recruitment. He wouldn’t even need to do a thorough background check. Saito would have taken care of that detail already. This guy could be put in play right away. 

“Yeah, mate. Arthur came into Saito’s supply store looking for copper bowls.”

“You work at the fish market and the supply store?” Dom asked, impressed by Eames’ work ethic. 

“Tako is a man of many talents.”Saito said to which Dom responded under his breath, “I’ll bet.” 

Mal elbowed Dom in the ribs which resulted in him letting out an exaggerated squeal of pain. That broke Arthur out of his stupor. He rose to properly greet Saito and inquired about his health, as was customary. 

“Good to see you again. I trust all is well.” 

“I am very well, Arthur. Thank you. How are you?”

“I admit you’ve piqued my curiosity. My Japanese is a bit rusty but doesn’t ‘Tako' translate to Octopus?” 

Saito laughed. “Arthur we both know your Japanese is almost as good as mine. Your translation is correct.” Saito wasn’t forthcoming with any additional clarification. 

“Am I invisible?” Eames grumbled in exacerbation. Unlike everyone else clad in muted neutral tones, Eames was wearing a garish pink shirt and green tweed trousers that stretched taut across his broad thighs, somehow managing to be tacky and sexy at the same time. He was impossible not to notice. 

Arthur sighed audibly. “Hello Mr. Eames.”

“Well now that everyone has been introduced, let’s sit for dinner,” Mal happily announced as she directed everyone out of the living room. She needed to limit Arthur’s opportunities to talk before she was able to find an excuse to pull him away for a private grilling. She threw Dom a pointed look to silently get him up to speed. 

He nodded back in response and lagged behind to refill his tumbler with more Scotch. If he was a better man Dom would have felt a bit sorry for Arthur. But kind men didn’t last long in the spy game. He was eager to watch his wife flex her integration skills. Mal could get a Buddhist monk to renounce his vow of silence. He double timed it over to the den, not wanting to miss any chance to see his one true friend squirm. 

~

Once everyone was seated around the round table and working on their salads, Mal kicked off the small talk by asking Eames about Sam. 

“Eames, is Sam out prowling around without you this evening?”

“He likes to venture out on his own. I’ll probably beat him back to the flat tonight. I think I hold him back at times.”

“He loves you Eames. Everyone needs time on their own.”

“Space is key to a successful relationship, Eames. Even one as strange as the one you have with Sam.” Dom added. 

Saito concurred. “Independence is important. Two equal halves make a stronger whole, Tako.” 

Mal took Saito’s statement as an opportunity to crowbar in the question that had been on her mind since their arrival, ”Saito, if I may be so bold. Why do you call Eames Tako?”

“Eames holds the record for the world’s longest free dive. Over 200 meters. Even sunlight can not reach that depth. Only the great creatures of the deep blue. Like the octopus.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Eames who just shrugged his shoulders and grinned. Instinctually, Arthur knew there was more to that tattoo. It was too detailed and unusual of a choice for it to be the insignificant reminder of a whimsical decision. 

“Eames,” Arthur said, “That’s an impressive feat for a stock boy and a fishmonger.”

“Your condescension is, of course, much appreciated, Arthur. You would be surprised at how many practical applications there are for holding your breath. The lasses back home enjoyed it and it blew the gents minds.” 

Dom and Mal were amused. Arthur didn’t share their amusement, so he did what came naturally to him as an old money WASP: he plastered on a fake smile and changed the subject. “Mal, dinner was delicious,” Arthur said, “Do you need any help bringing out dessert?

“Yes, thank you Arthur, Mal replied, “Come join me in the kitchen.”

Dom and Saito started discussing the merits of Egyptian versus Roman architecture after Mal and Arthur excused themselves from the table. Eames ignored them once again to give his full attention to a topic more aesthetically pleasing to his tastes, Arthur’s ass. 

Eames thought Arthur’s bum couldn’t look any better than in did swathed in the tight denim when he was bending down in the copper cookware aisle. He was never so happy to be wrong. 

Arthur’s ass was wrapped up like a present in grey silk and wool trousers, accentuated by a tight waist coat in matching fabric with a pinstripe pattern. Eames felt like it was his birthday and he was eager to open his gift. 

He wanted to peel Arthur out of those trousers. He’d gather the sides of his waistcoat in his hands and lift Arthur up to impale him with his cock. Arthur touching himself and crying out Eames’ name as he found his pleasure. 

Eames laughed at himself for the inappropriateness of imagining Arthur riding his cock while he was sitting at the dinner table of people he’d just met. But his fascination with Arthur was more than sexual. It was more than curiosity. For reasons he wasn’t yet able to articulate, Eames wanted Arthur’s attention.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that his family might forgive him for leaving England without a proper goodbye and actually approve of Arthur. Eames’ mother was such an English elitist she referred to the States as the colonies. Even she’d be hard pressed to find fault with Arthur. Not just rich as Eames had already sussed out but without peer in East Coast social circles. Eames learned while digging into his background that it was Arthur’s family Americans referred to when using the expression ‘Keeping up with the Jones’. 

Everyone Eames chatted with about Arthur noted how he was the embodiment of manners; the paragon of propriety and a stickler for rules. He would have been the perfect soldier, Eames amused, so it made perfect sense for Arthur to be a party planner. Dictating how others should go about having their celebrations was undoubtedly a never ending source of joy for Arthur. Still his friendship with the Cobbs and Saito was another indication that there was more to Arthur than seating arrangements and engraved invitations. 

Eames wasn’t oblivious to Saito's machinations to get he and Arthur better acquainted. It explained Saito’s out of the blue insistence that Eames accompany him to the Cobb’s dinner party. An outlier for reasons beyond the fact that Saito always went to social functions when he was in New York by himself. Saito, cold hearted international businessman, was playing match maker.

When he first met Saito. he'd confessed to Eames how unusual it was for him to have dealings with someone not afraid to be their true self. Eames didn’t have any guilty pleasures. He would freely admit to anyone that asked that he found ‘chick flicks’ relaxing. He had enough violence and intrigue in his real life so he shunned the typical torture porn and explosion filled movies favored by soldiers.

Eames looked forward to teasing Saito about unwittingly absorbing the notions of the cinema he purported Eames forced him to watch. Post party, in private teasing, of course. He was sure Saito would have him killed if he brought up his dabbling in the affairs of the heart in front of others, even if those others were just Arthur and the Cobbs. Saito was one of the few people capable of ending Eames’ existence on earth. As a danger junkie, it was one of Eames’ favorite things about Saito. 

If Arthur was just who he claimed to be, Saito knew Eames would get bored. Saito was privy to Eames’ entire back story. The unsavory things he had done for Queen and country, his full family name and it’s connection to privilege, his unique abilities with a brush that attracted his underworld associates. Saito knew the types of enemies Eames had and wouldn’t subject someone else to those complications if he thought they’d be at risk. 

And the Cobbs, obviously very close to Arthur, were not a typical high society couple, despite their pension for dinner parties. Mal has shown an unusual interest and knowledge of the knives he used at the fish market. Dom looked like a harmless professor that enjoyed spirits and intellectual chats by the fire. Except when he thought Eames wasn’t paying attention, he assessed Eames like his old commanders use to before they divvied out mission orders. 

The man did like to pontificate. He and Saito were still blathering on about design. Eames decided to claim a love for 70's bloody awful industrial Brutalist architecture just to liven up the discourse. Now that he was more certain than ever that Arthur had a secret layer under his candy coating, he needed something to occupy his thoughts until he could leer at him again. He took childish pleasure from making Arthur uncomfortable but he did feel bad for him from at the moment. He was surely enduring an inquisition from Mal on how they met. Eames wasn’t taking a piss when he said she scared him. 

~

The star of Eames's waking thoughts was indeed suffering through an interrogation by Mal in her kitchen. As smart and crafty as he was, it still caught Arthur off guard whenever she cornered him by the marble countertop and turned the screws on him. No one else ever dared to pry into his personal life. Mal looked innocent in her apron and kitten heels, the perfect picture of a domestic goddess. She lulled you into a false sense of comfort with flutes of champagne and idle chit chat about food and then she pounced. 

“Eames is very sexy don’t you think, mon cher? His lips put mine to shame. And have you seen his tattoos? That is your type, no? Muscles and tattoos. He has an impressive knife collection too. It’s why I have been trying to have him over for dinner. A man that can handle a blade so well is a man worth knowing,” she concluded. 

“I knew you’d like him and try to pawn him off on me but don’t you find him a bit crass? And ps, I’m still not giving Dom my chairs.” 

Knowing her plan for the chair swap was foiled, Mal threw the white tea towel in her right hand at Arthur’s head signally her surrender, which he easily ducked. He should have known her acceptance was too easy as he just missed getting out of the way of the steak knife she threw with her left hand. 

Mal rolled on with her campaign for Eames as if she didn’t just try to wound Arthur with a kitchen utensil, “I think he enjoys get under your skin. I must admit it is quite fun. You are too serious sometimes, Monsieur Grinch”. 

Arthur glared at her in response. 

“Eames is always the perfect gentleman and quite charming with me. Probably public school educated. We have fascinating conversations about Impressionism and the Baroque period while he prepares my fish orders. 

“And Saito trusts him,” she continued. “He’s never brought a guest to dinner in all the years that Dom and I have known him. He has a pet name for him, for christ’s sake.”

As Arthur processed all the new information Mal was throwing at him, she started to mumble to herself while giving the silverware a quick polish before setting it on a serving tray. 

“He’s a fellow spook or special forces. M-5, M-6, SAS, SBS. Best bet is SBS if he holds the freediving record. There’s no other reason for Saito to not tell us the whole story unless it was classified. So if Eames has security clearance, and that’s a high probability if Saito hangs out with him, he would pass any background check Langley could ever do.”

“If Eames has clearance you could take him back to your real home and not that lair on Park Avenue where you drag your one night stands.

“You never complain about my penthouse when I let you talk me into buying all those French antiques.”

“Mon cher, we are rescuing them so they don’t fall into the hands of people who would not love and cherish them like us.” 

“Cherished by you, not me. I’d use them for kindling or a weapon without a second thought. And what about my walk in that is full of gowns and the trunks full of purses and shoes? Do you know one of my overnight guests actually asked me how long I had been cross dressing? 

They broke out in a fit of giggles as Mal responded to Arthur with, “You do like them big and dumb, mon cher.” 

“The dumb ones are easier to kick out in the morning,” he confessed. Mal laughed harder, reaching for a cloth napkin to dab at the tears forming in her eyes. “Arthur, if you make me smudge my make up, I will cut you.” 

Arthur crouched in pretend fear and then asked seriously, “What about Eames’ roommate Sam? Isn’t he a hindrance to your amoral plans for my love life?”

Mal chuckled. “You are an extremely resourceful man, Arthur. I’m confident you will be able to snatch Eames away from Sam’s clutches. Just be careful. He and Eames have an unusual relationship and Sam is the jealous type. 

“This evening keeps getting stranger.”

“Quit your griping and grab the tray warming in the oven,” Mal ordered. “It’s rude to keep our guests waiting.”

Confidante to drill sergeant. Another reason why Arthur loved Mal. She was never dull. 

~

“Gentleman, we have homemade french ice cream and warm madeleines for dessert,” Mal announced when she and Arthur returned to the den. The ice cream was served in brandy snifters with the madeleines on the side. 

Eames took his first bite of the cake and moaned in delight. “Fuck me, this is good. Mal, if Dom didn’t seem like a great guy, I would kill him now and marry you. This is the best thing I have ever had in my mouth.”

Dom nearly did a spit take with his Scotch. 

“Eames, you are a never-ending source of entertainment, Mal said, “ I’m delighted to hear you like the cake but I didn’t make the madeleines, only the ice cream. Arthur made them.” 

“Arthur, you said you didn’t cook. You lied! Provocateur! J’accuse! Qu'on vous coupe la tête!

Eames’ ridiculous declarations in French and praise for his cakes made Arthur smile in earnest, putting his dimples on display. Mal was going to force them down the aisle by shotgun based on Eames’ flawless French alone. 

“No, I said I wasn’t a cook. I do like to bake. Specificity, Mr. Eames.”

Eames stared back at Arthur. He was mesmerized by his dimples and turned on by his haughty attitude. So many secrets behind those eyes he thought. His lithe copper man. Elegant and dangerous. 

“Well the offer of marriage and wetwork stands. I would kill to have more of these cakes.”

He and Arthur continued to stare at each other. Eames didn’t break eye contact when he brought a spoon full of ice cream to his mouth, rolling it around his tongue, slowly licking it clean. 

Arthur licked his lips in Pavlovian response. 

Dom cleared his throat and interrupted the show with a question, “Arthur don’t you need an escort to the museum gala on Saturday with Nash held up in Europe?”

No response from Arthur who hadn’t moved his eyes away from the obscene things Eames was doing with his tongue. The vodka he had earlier with Dom, the wine during dinner and the champagne with Mal may have been clouding his brain, but he could not look away.

“Arthur!” 

“Yes, Dom.” Arthur absently replied. He was still enjoying the show. If Eames could do that with a spoon, Arthur was imagining other things Eames could wrap his plush lips around.

Eames could hold his breath for freediving so surely he could deep throat like a porn star. He had as much as said so earlier. His hands looked strong too. Arthur didn’t admit it to anyone, not even Mal, but he liked to be held down. He was wound so tight all the time, it would be nice to relinquish some of that control. 

“Great,” Mal said, “then I will send the details to Eames via email. Saito you can spare Eames one Saturday can’t you?

“Of course.” 

“Wait, what’s happening?” Arthur asked.

“You are taking Eames to the gala.” Mal cheerfully provided. Eames was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Saito and Dom were sporting matching smirks of self-satisfaction.

Arthur put his head down on the table in defeat. 

~

Arthur was the first to leave the dinner party as he had a long walk back to his brownstone. He could have called a car service or taken the subway but the walk gave him time to think about everything that had occurred. Taking Eames to the gala was going to complicate his life. His friend Nash was his normal prescreened platonic escort for social functions. Now he had an actual date, one he suspected wouldn’t be easy to kick out in the morning. 

He would need a plan. Ironically, even though it hadn’t been his idea, Arthur was bothered by the small detail that he hadn’t been the one to ask Eames to attend the gala. It offended his gentlemanly sensibilities. He would have to rectify the situation as soon as possible to salvage his pride. 

He thought back to his debutante ball days. He hadn’t been on a date in years which meant he really only had his experiences with debutantes as a point of reference. He could work with that data. 

The situation with Eames was similar in that he had been pre matched, thanks to his friends interference, with him but more complicated for two reasons. Eames wasn’t a 16 year old girl. (His parents has reassured Arthur when he came out that his sexual orientation was not something he needed to hide. However, they did expect him to keep up his social obligations which included accompanying female debutantes to balls. He could court who he wanted on his own time. Arthur had of course worked out a away to escort the debutantes and fuck cater waiters at the same event. Efficiency was the key component to productivity.)

And the bigger obstacle - Eames didn’t live alone. If Arthur approached this task as he would a mission, his first move would be to neutralize any potential threats to a successful outcome. In this case that meant the elimination of Eames’ roommate Sam. A bullet to the head seemed a bit extreme even for someone of his moral flexibility. He just needed to avoid Sam. A simple task for a spy. Happy he had the basis for a plan of action, Arthur spent the rest of his walk thinking about Eames' lips. 

~

Arthur dialed up Mal first thing the next morning. 

“Mal, can you give me Eames’ address?”

“Of course. He lives in a walk-up on the Lower East Side. It’s on a corner not too far from the park. I will text you the address. Are you planning a visit?”

“I haven’t worked out all the details, but yes, I thought I’d call on him and ask him to be my guest at the gala. I know deep deep deep down you have good intentions with your meddling and I am admittedly rusty in the dating department but it’s unseemly for you to invite people on my behalf to social functions."

“You are delightfully old fashioned at times, mon cher. Well I happen to know that Eames is not working the next few days. He’s getting work done on his octopus tattoo tomorrow so he won’t be home during the day. But otherwise he should be available for your courting.” 

“Why do you know his schedule and what he is getting inked on his body?”

“He and Saito are quite forthcoming when you ply them with sake and your croissants. And I know you are a man that likes details. I didn’t want to disappoint when you called me to find out what happened after you left last night.”

“You have no scruples, Mal.”

“It’s why you love me so much. Luckily, I am a great keeper of secrets. I found out many things about Eames, but I won’t be sharing anymore with you. You will have to find out more on your own, Don Quixote. Happy windmill chasing.”

~

Armed with a bouquets of wild flowers procured from an early morning trip to the flower market, Arthur got ready for his mission. He would leave Eames the flowers with a note asking him out on a proper date. 

He didn’t want to look too suspicious so he didn’t wear his usual cover outfit of all black instead opting for jeans and his brown leather jacket. The jacket concealed his gun and helped pass him off as a typical college student. He would easily blend in with the crowd.

And in case there was a problem with Sam, he had his gun to dissuade the man from causing a scene. He had staked out Eames’ apartment on his way back from the flower market so he knew there was a fire escape in the back and Eames and Sam weren’t home.

The Lower East Side wasn’t far from Arthur’s brownstone so he was able to get to the back of the apartment building fairly quickly. Arthur made no noise as he climbed the fire escape steps. He was almost to Eames’ landing when something brushed against this leg. He stifled the reflex to scream. 

“Please don’t be a rat,” he quietly mumbled to himself. He continued on and was just about to take the final few steps when he saw a giant cat sitting on the window ledge of Eames’ apartment. 

“MEEEEOOOOW.”

“Hold on, love. I’m comin’,” Arthur was able to make out being yelled back in response.

He froze in place. He couldn’t believe his little covert mission was going to be ruined by a cat. 

The cat didn’t move as Eames opened the window. Arthur didn’t know who looked more surprised at that moment, himself or Eames. 

“Arthur! What are you doing skulking about back here?

“I was going to leave you a note. You aren’t supposed to be home.”

“You couldn’t slide it under the front door like a normal person, love? Or better still, just call me. I made sure you had my mobile number. I know it might be hard for you to believe but I don’t make a habit of giving out my number to people who come to the store. Only the gorgeous ones with dimples and witty comebacks looking for copper bowls.”

Arthur blushed a bit at the compliment. He felt a little less like an idiot standing on the fire escape with flowers in his hand knowing Eames had made a special effort to give him his number. 

“I’m a party planner, you will remember. We deal in the dramatic. I also didn’t want to chance a run-in with your roommate. Mal said he had claws and wasn’t afraid to show them. He didn’t like other men coming onto his territory.”

“He seems to like you well enough”. 

Arthur let out a very long, exasperated sigh. One day he was going to strangle Mal in her sleep. “Sam is your cat.”

“Arthur Jones, allow me to introduce you to Samuel Beckcats." 

“That’s a horrible pun.” 

“We are all born mad. Some remain so.”

“Quoting Samuel Beckett's doesn’t make it less of a bad pun.”

“Can’t blame a lad for trying. Are those stemmed lovelies perchance for me?”

“They were to go with the note. Presentation is paramount to a party planner, Mr. Eames.”

“Well come inside, party planner. You have yet to tell me how those bowls worked out for you. My curiosity may kill my cat.” 

As Arthur stepped through the window, Eames noticed a bump in his jacket and rolled his eyes in amusement. Arthur Jones, party planner, was strapped. He couldn’t think of a single reason for a legitimate party planner to carry a holstered firearm but he kept that thought to himself. Eames would have Arthur crying out all of his secrets soon enough. He was a man willing to put in the time to get the best results. 

~ The End ~

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the art. 
> 
> [art link](http://oyonok.tumblr.com/post/103207549096/fic-title-the-spook-who-climbed-the-stairs)
> 
>  **Shout outs** : Thanks to **ko_no_yo** not only for the inspirational art but for being the first person to read a draft. Her feedback was extremely helpful. I didn't write the plot she hoped to see (I tried) but she was gracious enough to help me with the story it became. 
> 
> And without my super spectacular beta reader, **Sneaqui** , this story would been chock full of unnecessary sentences, misplaced commas and not enough contractions. She helped me get rid of the clutter and provided suggestions to make it a better story. Her input was invaluable. 
> 
> They tried their best. Any remaining errors or plodding paragraphs are on me.
> 
>  **Random fun facts** : The title of this fic was inspired by the book and it's movie adaption _The Spook Who Sat By The Door._ It's about the CIA and was one of my father's favorite movies. I've never actually seen the whole movie or read the book but I always loved the title. -The quip about eating 50 eggs is a reference to a famous scene in _Cool Hand Luke_ , one of my favorite movies. - And I don't know any French beyond sortie and fromage. I've been to France twice and that's all the French I remember. So blame the Internet for any mistakes in grammar. I know even less Japanese but I'm trying to learn.  
>    
>  **Feedback** : I hope you found it entertaining. If you didn't like it, don't be shy with the negative feedback just be specific. I always say don't just tell me it sucks, tell me it sucks because of XZY. That's gold. Writing well is hard. Constructive criticism and practice make it easier. This is my first Inception and reverse bang fic. It also happens to be the fourth fic I've written. My fiction writing needs work, I know. I do need to write more. It's not going to get better by me just thinking about it unfortunately. But oh I wish it could.
> 
>  **Part2?:** If U did enjoy the story I should tell u there was supposed to be a part 2 about what happens in the apt and the gala that I didnt get to do to time constraints. The story was outlined to be Arthur x Eames heavy, not Arthur and Mal with a side of Eames. There was even a bigger role for Sam. I'd like to say I was going to write it but knowing my track record don't hold your breath. I worship at the alter of proscrastion.


End file.
